Slow Burn. Cherry Adair
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bra hung like a limp piece of licorice in his large, well-shaped hand.
Catherine leaned forward just enough to take the bra without losing her grip on the safely tucked sheet. “Thanks.” The brush of his fingers sent an electrical charge up her arm. She cleared her throat, then decided to live dangerously and fluttered her eyelashes at him. “Does this mean I have to get dressed now, honey?”
Catherine gave his friend a wide smile, which the woman didn’t reciprocate. Drop-dead gorgeous in a little black number hardly wider than a belt, she had long legs and an ample bosom, displayed to advantage in the skimpy dress. Expensive, high-maintenance, honey-colored hair cascaded seductively over one shoulder. Catherine sighed. Another pocket Venus. Without a sense of humor. Figured.
Into the tension-laced atmosphere, Catherine asked brightly, “Is it your birthday?”
“What is she talking about?” the blonde demanded, hand splayed across her chest to hold up her dress. Keeping her eyes firmly fixed on Catherine, she turned her back so Luke could zip her. The twin lines between her plucked-to-a-fare-thee-well eyebrows would become permanent in short order if she persisted in scowling like that. The woman had the kind of looks that would go rapidly downhill the moment gravity took over, and a slight overbite that made her, in Catherine’s opinion, look a little like a hamster she’d once owned. She also had the same mean-eyed look Scamper used to give just before he gnawed her finger.
Narrow-eyed, Luke scrutinized her. “What are you up to?”
Catherine opened her eyes so wide her lashes tickled her eyebrows. “Didn’t you bring her home to play, Luke, sweetums?”
“Catherine...” he warned.
She gave him an apologetic little smile, filled with as much sincerity as she could muster, and spoke normally. “I thought you were out of town. Honestly, I wouldn’t have—”
“Who the hell is she?” the woman demanded, slipping her dainty feet back into high-heeled mules, her mouth unattractively pouty.
Luke strode to the highboy against the far wall, then glanced over his shoulder. “Cat Harris. Elizabeth Wyrech.” He jerked open a drawer, yanked out a sage-green cotton sweater and pulled it over his head. It did wonderful things to his eyes.
“Hi.” Catherine didn’t offer her hand, for the sheet was in danger of slithering into her lap. “Look, you don’t have to run off. Does she, Luke? I mean—”
“Cut it out, Catherine,” Luke said, clearly not amused. “Explain to Elizabeth who you are, then shut up.”
Catherine stared at him. “Everything? Are you sure? Doesn’t she know you get bored with just one lady in your be—”
“A ménage à trois? This is really sick, Luke.” Elizabeth scooped up her purse and held it in front of her like a shield. “I’m calling a cab.”
“She’s my sister, for God’s sake!”
“Oh, really?” No matter how beautiful, the woman had a nasty mind and an ugly sneer. Catherine narrowed her eyes at her. Elizabeth narrowed hers back.
“You have different last names.”
“Different mothers,” Luke said.
“Different fathers,” Catherine said at the same time.
“She’s my stepsister!” Luke strode across the room and wrapped his strong fingers around Catherine’s clenched jaw. “Siblings. Right, Cat?” His hand moved her head up and down to acknowledge the statement.
“Right.” Catherine gave Elizabeth the Wretch a tight smile and pretended that arrow hadn’t pierced her heart. “His sister.”
“That’s even sicker,” Elizabeth said coldly before storming out of the bedroom.
Catherine gripped the sheet tighter, a hard knot in her throat. She couldn’t drag her eyes away from Luke, and her face flamed hotly enough for her to damn her pale skin. His sister.
From six years old she’d dreamed, wished, prayed he’d accept her as family. When she’d been older that wish had come true. But by then sister was no longer the relationship she craved.
Usually pragmatic and sensible, Catherine had made a gigantic leap of faith in coming to Luke. This was not an auspicious start to her plan.
“I’ll take Liz home and be back in twenty minutes.”
“I’ll be here.” If she didn’t take a cowardly leap from the balcony first.
He turned when he got to the door and glanced back. “Don’t go to sleep. We’re going to talk. Tonight.”
Did they have to? She checked his eyes. Absolutely.
“Be dressed when I get back.”
“Aye, aye, Captain.” Catherine saluted. The satin sheet glided like water over her naked skin, baring one breast.
She froze and stared at Luke.
White-knuckled, he gripped the doorknob.
A beat later he slammed the bedroom door behind him.
* * *
I’M IN DEEP, deep trouble here, Luke thought on his circuitous, I-need-more-time-to-think-about-this drive home an hour later. How in heaven’s name was he ever going to be able to forget the sight of Cat’s bare b— His fingers tightened on the steering wheel. Oh, man...
His dad had married Cat’s mother nineteen years ago. So there wasn’t a drop of familial blood between them. Thank God. But Luke could never forget what a mean, nasty jerk he’d been to Catherine for years. It had taken even more years before he’d been forced to realize just what his cruelty was costing her, and he’d sworn to himself he would always love and protect her to make up for the years he’d done just the opposite.
The way he now felt didn’t negate the promises he’d made.
He’d sworn to his dad, just before he’d died, that he would take care of Catherine. More important, he’d made Cat a promise to be her big brother. He’d assured her he would always be there for her. To protect her, to keep her safe, to have him to depend on, for anything and everything. Luke considered these promises sacrosanct, unshakable and nonnegotiable.
Too bad his libido wasn’t as ethical as his brain. He reluctantly turned his decrepit Jaguar into the basement parking lot beneath his building. Just because his feelings had changed dramatically was no reason to disillusion her. He had to remember that to Cat he was no more than her big brother. Her safe, dependable big brother. End of story.
* * *
HER FACE STILL hot, Catherine speedily dressed the second the front door closed behind Luke and what’s-her-name. Her goal had seemed so simple and straightforward back home in Beaverton. Get Luke to see her as a desirable woman and act on it. Of course, she hadn’t planned on him seeing her naked in his bed. At least not yet!
Catherine padded into the living room and flung herself into the squishy black leather chair she’d bought Luke with every penny of her savings when he and their friend Nick had gone off to New York to become architects. The chair smelled like Luke. She snuggled her cheek against the skin-smooth leather and closed her eyes. She’d thought of little else but him for years. She could do this. She would do this.
Perhaps it wasn’t so bad, after all, that Luke had had a sneak preview....
* * *
WEARING JEANS AND one of his old Pratt Institute sweatshirts, Cat’s five-foot-ten frame was curled up in the big black leather armchair in the corner of the living room when Luke returned.
Thank God she’s dressed, he thought, and thank God she’s tamed that hair. Catherine Anne Harris had the reddest, wildest, most touchable hair he’d ever seen. It had a life of its own.
Seeing her naked in his bed with that electrified mane, like living